Forced To Taint My Hands
by Einheriar
Summary: FE7 After being cursed at a young age, Mark is forced to fight for his very existence in an unholy tournament of sorts. However, as time passes, Mark begins to wonder: is keeping your soul really worth it all? Even if it changes you forever?
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Fire Emblem or anything in it.

**Author's Notes:** My first try in the Fire Emblem section.

* * *

**Forced To Taint My Hands**

Prologue

He stood there.

Waiting.

Listing.

Focused.

The wind blows softly past him, making the knee-high grass of the field around him and the edges of his old, light-brown cloak wave gently back and forth. He just stood there with his eyes closed, waiting for the first to arrive.

Today it would begin. Today would be the first day of the end. Today he had to start the thing he had trained for all his life. Today his hands would be tainted in blood…

His cloak reached just past his knees, hiding most of his body. Under it, his right hand rested on top of the hilt of his sword, which was tightly strapped to his brown leather belt.

He had never used it before, but today that would change. Soon his opponent would arrive, very soon. He could feel it. Like a chill running down ones spine when one would press could ice against it.

He revolted that what he soon had to do. It was against everything he believed in to take another's life, especially through combat. But he had learned early on in his life that the lust for battle, and power, was in many humans nature, unfortunatly. He despised such people. Those kinds of people only thought about them selves and how to gain more power. Often they would sacrifice and use many innocent lives to obtain it.

Some time ago he made an oath to himself. He would use all his knowledge and strength and use it to help the weaker and stop those who lust for power. Almost his entire life had consisted out of training, ever since that day…

He was twenty-two now. Today was the day that the battle for his life began. Today was also the day that his life would start ending.

He knew the consequences. He knew the rules. He knew most of his opponents. He knew who was to blame for all this.

He looked up at the sky. It was a beautiful blue sky with only a few small, puffy, white clouds here and there.

His expression turned into an angry frown. They were probably already watching. This… tournament they invented. This sick game of theirs. This curse they have cast on their souls. One would think that they would not play such foul tricks on their worshippers.

He hated them.

He would hate them forever.

Even though it had not begun yet, he already felt the first of the effects very slightly. It felt wrong. He let his gaze fall down to the ground. The grass crushed beneath his brown boots, were they feeling what he was starting to feel?

The thought intoxicated his mind.

Had he become nothing more then crushed grass beneath the boots of the immortal beings? Was his life so insignificant? But, if that were so, why would he have been cursed?

These were only a few of the many questions that dwelled inside his head.

He shook his head.

Now was not the time to think about the deeper meanings of things. Now was the time to prepare for the first fight. Not only the beginning, but also the ending, of everything.

He focused himself. Thinking over the many possible strategies he had thought up. He had to be prepared. If he was not, he would surely die at the hands of his first opponent.

He knew exactly who his first opponent was. They had met once before, long ago, before both of them, along with others, were cursed. After that day, their lives were changed forever. Immediately he was send, or more like forced, into training. He studied weapons, magic, battle-strategies, and many more. He had mastered several different kinds of weapons, of which each he knew exactly the strengths and weaknesses.

At the moment he only carried a sword, because it would give him an advantage over his first opponent.

…He was near.

He heard someone move through the grass, towards him. Calmly turning around, he faced the one that he had been waiting for.

"Hello Mark," his opponent greeted him.

The first battle was about to begin…


	2. Chapter 1: The First Unforgivable Act

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Fire Emblem or anything in it.

**Author's Notes:** I don't really know where this story belongs to. I have made it Action/Adventure/General, but I don't think that's completely right… O well.

* * *

**Forced To Taint My Hands**

Chapter 1: The First Unforgivable Act

They looked at each other.

Regret was already nibbling on their souls.

They saw it in each others eyes.

Mark closed his eyes; then opened them again after a few moments. The wind picked up again. He enjoyed the short moment that it blew against the bare skin of his face. When the wind subsided, he finally spoke.

"Hello Lenard…" he said to the man opposite of him, his opponent, but also, his old friend. They were about the same age, but Lenard looked a few years older somehow. Perhaps it was because of the scars on his face. Or maybe it was the faint glow deep within his eyes. Both showed that he had seen many battles. That was not surprising, however. Lenard was the son of a great warrior of the Western Iles. It was only natural that he had become like this. It was his destiny, even despite the curse.

Lenard had the spiky, dirty-blond hair of his father and the dark-purple eyes of his mother. He had not become as broad and muscular as Mark had thought, but he was still broad and muscular nonetheless.

A plain, sleeveless white shirt and a pair of brown trousers were pretty much all the clothing Lenard was wearing. He was surely wearing boots, but because of the grass Mark couldn't see them.

The hilt of Lenard's axe was sticking out above his right shoulder, were it was strapped to his back. Mark had seen that axe before, long ago.

"So, you have bested your father in a fight?" Mark questioned.

"Indeed I have," Lenard answered, as he took out the axe and raised it into the air. It was indeed his father's axe, The White Rock. It was an axe forged several hundred years ago by one of the best weapon-smiths that ever lived. It was almost impossible to dent, or break for that matter, and almost needed no sharpening at all. A snow-white hilt was the main attraction for many greedy souls, because it had several small diamonds on it.

If Lenard had beaten his father in a battle, then he was strong, very strong.

This was not going to be easy.

Not because of Lenard's strength, but because they were friends.

Killing a friend.

It was a sin. It was betrayal. It was murder.

But they both knew they had no choice. It had become something inevitable. It was inevitable from the start…

This was just plain cruel. Mark figured that most people could not even bear to think about killing another person, especially someone they know, respect and care about.

Was this wrong? Of course it was. Taking a live was always wrong, even under their conditions.

But he wondered.

What was a life worth? Was one life worth more then another? There were so many. Everyday countless are created and countless are destroyed.

The beginning and the end. If live was the beginning, was death the end?

Perhaps it is, perhaps it isn't. He would not know, maybe not even after he dies. Again he was thinking too much. Too much about what was and what could be. It was _the now_ he should focus on.

They walked towards each other.

Now the first rule of this… tournament of the cursed was being carried out.

Mark raised his hand, and so did Lenard. They looked at each other.

"That it had to be this way…" Lenard said with a sad smile.

"Do your best," Mark said, trying to sound strong. "Don't hold back. Regretting can be done afterwards. If I lose, then I won't regret it, because I did my best and I lost to a good friend."

"You're still as I remembered you Mark. Even though we are going to be opponents in a live or die battle, you still stand strong and consider me as your friend."

"It wasn't our choice Lenard. We were forced. The ability to choose our own path was taken from us…" Mark paused. "Now, promise me you won't hold back, whatsoever, alright?"

"I promise, my friend."

They took each others hand and shook once. Then both started to chant a spell in an arcane language. They didn't actually know the language, but this was part of the battle. They had to learn these words and what they meant. These words were the only ones they knew of the arcane language. Day for day, during his training, Mark had to practice the lines a hundred times before going to sleep.

Both of them were chanting in unison. As they did, a black energy circle appeared on the ground beneath them, crushing all the grass flat. When the two were finished chanting, the black circle was glowing brightly. They shook their hands once more and a bright flash quickly followed. After the light faded, the circle was gone. The grass around them was crushed into a perfect circle. For some reason, Mark felt a little bad about it.

"The pact has been made…"

"Yes. Now we fight."

"Until one of us dies…"

They walked into opposite directions, and then turned around when there was some distance between them. Mark unsheathed his sword and brought it out from under his cloak. It was a newly forged steel sword.

"Your uncle?" Lenard called out from where he was standing when he saw the sword. Mark nodded. His uncle was a weapons-smith. He forged this sword for this battle. Mark could feel how his uncle put his heart and soul into this sword. It was touching to see that people still cared about him, even if he was damned.

The sword felt comfortable in his hand. The handle of the hilt was wrapped with strong, black leather. The silver of the blade reflected the rays of the afternoon sun. It was a beautiful sword. What a pity that it had to be used for such a foul act. This sword was going to be tainted, just like him…

They raised their weapons.

After one last nod the two charged at each other, meeting in the circle of crushed grass.

Lenard brought his axe down, but Mark was able to block it. In a fluid motion, Mark pushed his opponent back and swung his blade at him.

Lenard staggered backwards a few steps. When he saw the sword coming, he raised his axe until the hilt was beside his face, where Mark's sword was heading for. He moved his hands on the hilt quickly out of the way of the incoming sword. The sword hit the white hilt of the axe just after he moved his hands.

"Impressive," Lenard said with a slight smile before charging forward and ramming right into opponent. Mark was sent flying backwards, and landed on the ground in the knee-high grass. He let out a small groan of pain, but quickly rose back to his feet. Quickly he analyzed the situation.

Lenard had strength and skill. That was quite obvious. His speed, however, was a weak spot. He was not slow, but he was not the fastest either. Mark had to use speed and technique.

The battle continued. Both gave their best, as they promised.

It went on for several hours.

The blue sky was turning orange as the sun was beginning to set. Lenard and Mark stood opposite of each other. Both battered, bruised, and exhausted. None of them was able to inflict the other any serious wounds, only some small cuts. Mark noticed that Lenard seemed to be slightly more out tired then he was. Subconsciously, he already knew that he had won.

It pained him.

This was going to be the last charge. They both knew it. After this, it was goodbye, for good…

They started. Both of them with raised weapons, and both let out one last battle cry. It lasted until their weapons met. After that, there was only silence.

It seemed to last almost an eternity. First the first time, Mark's mind was completely blank. There were no thoughts, none at all…

The wind blew again.

He heard Lenard collapse to the ground with a soft, grass-crushing thud.

Mark sheathed his, now bloodstained sword. As he walked over to the collapsed form of his friend, he realized that he was crying. The salt drops fell onto the grass, making no sound.

For a split second, he hesitated, but then continued. He turned his friend over onto his back. Mark lifted Lenard's head, supporting it with his arm.

"Well, I guess this is it…" Lenard said before he started coughing up blood. Mark looked down at the large gash he had made in Lenard's chest. It caused him to cry even more. He wasn't sobbing; tears just flowed as he looked silently at his friend.

"Don't morn over… me," his blond friend said, managing to crack a tiny smile. Mark looked at his friend, but said nothing. It wasn't needed. His face didn't reveal any of his emotions, but the tears and the look in his eyes said enough.

"Please… burn my body…" Lenard asked before coughing blood onto his shirt again. "And tell my dad… I'm sorry…" Mark only nodded; the ability to speak seemed lost to him at the moment. "Until we meet again… my friend…"

* * *

It had grown dark. 

But in the middle of a large grass field a fire lit up the cold darkness of the night.

Mark frowned as silently watched the body of his friend burn on top of the wood. He had laid the axe beside the body. Normally, the axe would go to the one who had triumphed over its last owner. However, Mark didn't consider himself a winner, he thought the opposite. He had lost a friend, and, in his opinion, his dignity.

He had committed the ultimate crime. He was tainted. He had become a murderer…

Mark tightened the collar-straps of his brown cloak. He tightened them a little too much, but he could care less at the moment.

The orange and red flames reached up into the sky. His hate was as hot as the flames. He looked up at the sky for the second time in one day. The hate he had felt earlier had grown several times.

Immortal or not, they would pay. One way or another, he would make them pay…

Then he roared out to the heavens, hate and anger the only things to be found in his voice.

The fire kept going, even after Lenard's body had turned to ashes. By the time it was burned out, dawn had already arrived.

Mark had not moved an inch. He had stood there all night watching the fire. He had not eaten nor drank nor slept. This was all unimportant for him. He killed his own friend, so those were the last things he would care about at the moment.

Finally, halfway in the afternoon, long after the fire went out, Mark moved on. He wrote two letters.

The first one was to his family, saying that he had survived the first battle, but felt more horrible about it then if he had lost.

The second one was to Lenard's father, saying that Mark hated himself for killing Lenard, and that he was to blame for his death.

After he had written the letters, he made his way towards the southwest. Towards the next city, Bulgar, on the plains of Sacae. There he would be able to send his letters to their designated destinations.

He walked for days. Without stopping to rest, eat or even drink. His sin was still too fresh in his mind. After several days, he was so absentminded that he did not know how many had past, he collapsed. Mark didn't know how far he had gotten, but he thought he had seen a mountain in the distance when it was still light.

He laid there in the soft, green grass, the silence of the night only disturbed by his own, low breathing. His energy was completely spent.

Soon he drifted into sleep. He started to drift into an old memory…


	3. Chapter 2: Unwanted Choices

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Fire Emblem or anything in it.

**Author's Notes:** For those who have read the original Chapter 2 (or for those who read this fic at all…), forget about it! It sucked, I know. That's why I deleted it and made this new entry Chapter 2 (which was originally planned to be Chapter 3).

I really wonder if _ANYONE_ is actually reading this story at all, or if everyone is just scrolling through it… If I don't get any confirmation that people are reading this, then I'll just put it on hiatus or maybe even delete it. I don't want to waste my time and energy on something nobody wants to read.

Here comes some basic info about future chapters (_**if**_ I continue this story that is):

-I'm not going to follow the game storyline chapter for chapter. For now, I planned to follow the Prologue (this chapter) and Chapter 1. After that, I'm going to skip Chapter 2 and 3 of the game and go right to Chapter 4. After 4, I will skip two or three chapters (depends on the development of the main plot of this story).

-I haven't decided on any pairings yet, so that will come later on.

-Reviews help me work faster, so if you want to see this story updated faster, don't hesitate to review. Constructive criticism is also very welcome.

That is all. Please, read and review…

* * *

**Forced To Taint My Hands**

Chapter 2: Unwanted Choices

His head hurt, a lot. Like someone had hit him repeatedly against the head with something hard… Not that he had experienced something like that before! He had a nightmare about his sin. His mind was still clouded with guilt. He was a mindless murderer, a traitor to his own beliefs; He was nothing…

Mark felt that he was lying somewhere warm and soft, a bed, most likely. Slowly, he managed to open his eyes. His vision was a blurry for a few moments, but soon regained focus. Where was he? All he saw at the moment was a ceiling, or at least he assumed it was a ceiling. It was made out of light brownish cloth, which meant he must be in a tent or a hut. Mark moved his head when he heard soft footsteps.

"Are you awake?" a voice asked him. It was clearly the voice of young woman, or perhaps a teenage girl, but defiantly female. Mark turned his head to the end of the bed, where the voice had originated from. At the end of the bed stood a young girl looking no older then seventeen or eighteen. She had a wooden bowl in her hand and smiled warmly at him. The girl was clothed in Sacaen garb. It had a dark greenish color that matched her turquoise hair, which she wore in a loose hanging ponytail. Mark did not doubt that she was a Sacaen for several reasons. One: because he was heading towards Bulgar. And two: because he had met a few Sacaens before, so he knew what kind of clothing they wore.

"I found you unconscious on the plains," she continued, while walking over to the side of the bed and kneeling down. Mark managed to get himself up in a sitting position. "I am Lyn, of the Lorca tribe. You're safe now," the girl said reassuringly.

'_I can not be saved, by no-one…' _Mark thought bitterly to himself, but did not let it show on his face. "Who are you? Can you remember your name?" she inquired. Mark studied her face for a moment before answering. Could he trust this girl? She _looked_ innocent and trustworthy, but, as he knew all too well, appearances could be deceiving. He looked into her eyes and saw all that he needed to see. Her appearance did not belie her true nature; he could trust her.

"It's Mark," he said with a very dry voice. He put his hand against his dry throat, remembering that he hadn't drunk anything for at least a day before he had collapsed. Lyn handed him the wooden bowl she held in her hand, which was filled with water. While Mark slowly gulped down the cold liquid, she continued the conversation.

"Your name is Mark? What an odd-sounding name…" Mark frowned while placing the wooden bowl beside him on the bed. He did not frown because he was irritated or angry, but because she was right, in a way. Never had he heard, read about or met another person named Mark. How did his parents come up with that name?

"But pay me no mind," Lyn quickly added, when she saw his facial expression. "It is a good name."

A short silence fell. Mark didn't really know what to say to her, and thus he remained silent, waiting for her to continue. She lowered her eyes slightly, apparently looking at his clothing. "I see by your attire that you are a traveler. What brings you to the Sacae Plains? Would you share your story with me?"

Before Mark could even think of anything to say, a faint sound coming from outside interrupted them. He was a bit grateful for this interruption, because he did not wish to tell Lyn about reason he came here. She didn't need to know what he was.

"Hm? What was that noise?" Lyn wondered, turning her head in the direction where the sound had come from. "I'll go see what's happening," she said to Mark. "Mark, wait here for me."

When she had exited the tent, Mark tried to raise himself out of the bed. He was a bit wobbly on his feet for a moment, but soon regained his balance. While walking around the tent a bit to get the numbness he felt in his legs out, he found the belongings he missed when he woke up: his sword, his worn brown cloak and his traveling gear. When he had just strapped his sheathed sword to his belt Lyn came stumbling back into the tent, panting slightly and with a somewhat panicky expression on her face.

"Lyn, what's wrong?" Mark asked her with some concern in his voice.

"Bandits!" She replied instantly. "They must be planning on raiding the local villages. I… I have to stop them!"

"On your own? Don't be foolish."

"But I-,"

"I'll come with you."

"What? You want to help?" Lyn questioned. "Well, can you use a weapon?"

Mark was considering his options. He didn't want to fight, to kill, again… But he could not let her walk into her demise either. Then he thought of something. "I can fight, yes, but I think the tactical advice I can provide you will be more helpful then my blade," he responded.

"Ah, I see… So you're a strategist by trade? An odd profession, but… Very well. We'll go together!"

After Mark had hurriedly put on his boots, the two of them headed outside. Mark had only taken his sword with him, because if he actually needed to fight, which he hoped wasn't necessary, his cloak and traveling gear would get in the way.

Hiding behind a small group of trees, they surveyed the grass field where the bandits were, according to Lyn. "There seem to be only two bandits…" Mark said with small hints of surprise in his voice. Two bandits? That wasn't exactly enough for a full-scale raid. Very odd… "This should not be extremely hard, but don't get overconfident, there could be more of them. Be careful and follow my advice, alright Lyn?"

After she nodded to him, the two charged towards the first bandit. They were quickly spotted by the said bandit. The bandit was about to swing his axe in a horizontal arc when they came near. Mark noticed this and leaped backwards. At the same time he pulled Lyn back with him by the arm, because she did not seem to have noticed what the bandit was about to do. When the bandit swung his axe, it hit Lyn in the stomach area. Mark quickly caught her as she fell backwards.

"How bad is it?" he asked worriedly while looking at her wound. There was a small tear in her clothing and some blood was beginning to stain the area around the tear.

"I'm okay," she said before wincing.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, nothing a Vulnerary can't—WATCH OUT!" The bandit had leaped into the air and then brought his axe down, aiming for Lyn and Mark. Quickly reacting, Mark unsheathed his sword and rose to his feet in front of Lyn, to shield her. Without much effort, he managed to block the bandit's axe.

Both the bandit and Lyn had a shocked expression on their face. Mark used this opportunity and pushed the bandit back. The bandit fell on his back, but quickly rolled back to his feet and took a few steps backwards mumbling to himself. Mark turned his head towards the injured Lyn. "I'll take care of them," he said to her before turning his head back towards the bandit. "And… I'm sorry."

Then he charged towards his foe. The bandit swung his axe in a vertical arc at him, but Mark easily dodged it by taking a step to the side, and then with one swift motion he stabbed right through the throat of his enemy. When pulled out his sword back out the bandit fell to the ground, clutching his throat with both hands as he choked to death. Mark just stood there, watching, as the bandit slowly died. For some reason he did not feel anything. No regret, no sorrow… nothing. He averted his gaze away from the dead bandit for a second and then looked back at Lyn. She looked at him with great amazement, as if he were something that had fallen from the heavens. Why did she look at him like that? Didn't she know what he did was practically the same as a murder?

"You should tend to your wound, Lyn," Mark said to her, glancing at the large red stain on her clothing. "I will take care of the other one…"

"Alright," Lyn answered him, taking out a Vulnerary. "Please be careful, Mark."

"The damned do not need to be careful…" he mumbled to himself before turning around. Mark walked over to the side of the bandit and picked up the large axe. It was a bit heavy, but nothing he couldn't handle with one hand. He mouthed an inaudible apology before slowly making his way towards the next bandit.

As the bandit came into view, standing in front of, what appeared to be, a ger, Mark began charging toward him while wielding his sword in one hand and the axe in the other. The bandit taunted him and apparently called himself 'Batta the Beast'. Mark thought that this bandit was being a complete idiot. Instead of standing there, saying that Mark had no chance against him and praising his own greatness, he should have taken a defensive stance. But it was too late now.

Suddenly, Mark stopped his charge. Then, with all the strength he could conjure, he threw the axe in his hand at the bandit. Batta's eyes widened as he saw the axe flying towards him. He tried to dodge it, but was already far too late. The axe went right through his upper right arm, slicing it clean off.

Batta fell to the ground, uttering all kinds of painful screams and curses. Mark glared coldly down at Batta as he stood before him. He gripped the black, leather wrapped handle of his sword tightly as he spoke to the pathetic bandit lying on the grass before him. "Only the foolish and the weak think of themselves as strong," Mark said in an angry tone, his eyes as cold as the frozen lakes of Ilia. "And only the foolish and the weak stand around in a battle trying to convince their enemies, and probably themselves too, that they are strong. You are foolish and weak, Batta. That is why you lost your arm, and that is why you are going to die…"

"N-n-no, please!" Batta 'the Broken', as Mark had dubbed him, begged. "I-I don't want-,"

"-To die?" Mark finished for him. "Well, it's too late for that!" he stabbed his sword down into the bandit's chest, piercing right through the heart.

After pulling out his sword, Mark shook his head vigorously, as if he had just woken up from a nightmare. What had he done? Those emotions he felt when he slaughtered Batta… anger and disgust. He had slaughtered Batta and did not even feel regret. Instead he felt anger, disgust, and, almost, even… pleasure…

Mark snapped his head up at the sky. The curse! It was changing him. It was making him a heartless murderer! Damn them. Damn all of them! Those sick bastards. He would make them pay!

Mark heard someone approach him from behind. When he turned around, he saw Lyn slowly walking towards him. Her left hand was on top of her wound. After glancing back at Batta's corpse for a moment, Mark quickly walked over to Lyn to block her view of the dead bandit.

"Lyn, you shouldn't move so much with your wound, even with the appliance of a Vulnerary," he said to her concernedly.

"Don't worry," she tried to assure him, but winced when she moved the wrong way. With a sigh, Mark sheathed his sword and then, without warning, picked Lyn up bridal style. "W-what are you doing, Mark?" she asked him, her cheeks were slightly flustered.

"It's not good for you to walk with your wound still healing," Mark answered calmly. "I'll carry you back."

* * *

It was a clouded night. The moon and the stars were barely visible. Mark sat outside, looking out over the field where he had slaughtered two people without hesitation or regret. Lyn was vast asleep inside. Her wound would be healed soon. She had told him that almost her entire tribe, including her parents, was slaughtered by bandits six months ago. Now she wants to travel with him and be taught by him. 

She wanted revenge. She wanted to become stronger and destroy the bandit clan that killed her parents and her people, the Lorca. Mark had found himself with no other option then to let her travel with him and train her. He could not leave her here defenseless by herself.

Lyn had to become stronger, yes. She had to become strong enough to protect herself and those she cares for. But he had to divert her from the path of vengeance, or somehow make sure that she would not taint her hands like he had. Mark could not allow her to die or, even worse, become what those bandits and he him self were.

Murderers…


	4. Chapter 3: Road to Opportunity

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Fire Emblem or anything in it.

**Author's Notes:** Sorry it took so long to update. Had a lot school projects and to do + a freaking writer block, the XXL version. GRAWL…!!! Anyways, looks like there _are_ people reading my fic! Well, then it's not a waste of time, after all. I want to thank everyone who wants to read this fic. I'll do my best to make it into a good one.

On a side note: I think I'm going to let some of the other characters have some kind of past with Mark. They're not going to be long lost friends or something like that. Ah, well, we'll just see how things will work out! I haven't really decided which characters it will be though (I'm not planning on using more then six or so), any suggestions?

Anonymous reviewer thanks go to _General of Lylat _and _Felix_.

**

* * *

**

Forced To Taint My Hands

Chapter 3: Road to Opportunity

It was somewhere in the early afternoon. Mark and Lyn had just arrived in the city of Bulgar, the largest city in Sacae. Lyn just beamed with pride when she started telling him about the city as if it was one of the, if not _the_, greatest thing in all of Elibe, or at least Sacae. Mark did find the city quite an interesting place. Especially the architecture was unlike most he had ever seen.

He liked how Lyn was now. He liked seeing her happy and carefree. It suited her much better then how she was when she told him of her past. It was a good decision to take the young girl with him after all. "We should purchase supplies for our journey," Lyn suggested.

"Oh, my heart!" a voice suddenly interrupted them. "What a dazzling vision of loveliness!" Mark and Lyn both raised an eyebrow at each other before turning around. A young man appearing to be around Mark's age, maybe a little younger, with olive colored hair and clad in Persian green cavalier armor approached them.

"Wait, o beauteous one!" the young man said to Lyn. "Would you not favor me with your name? Or better yet, your company?"

Was this guy being serious? Mark wondered what this man was suffering from. Maybe he had eaten one of those mushrooms that make you delusional? Maybe he took some kind of strange potion or drug? Maybe he is mentally ill? Or maybe he is just one of those guys who think he can charm any lady they meet…

Yes… that's probably it.

"Where are you from, sir knight, that you so freely to a stranger?" Lyn asked the olive-haired man, looking slightly annoyed. Mark stood beside her, his facial expression was neutral and calm—just in case this man would try to pull something. You never know what kind of people you could bump into in a city.

"Ha! I thought you'd never ask! I am from Lycia," the man answered confident and proudly. He changed his stance and took, what seemed to be, some sort of heroic pose. It didn't make a good impression though, as random people who passed gave him odd stares. "I hail from the Caelin canton, home to men of passion and fire!" the knight flexed his muscles as he said this.

Lyn rolled her eyes in annoyance and Mark simply ran his hand through his hair, trying to suppress a smile of amusement. "Shouldn't that be "home to callow oafs with loose tongues"?" the young Sacaen woman responded rather coldly. Mark never would have thought that his companion had such harsh side—not that it was a bad thing.

"Ooooh… You're even lovely when you're cruel!" the knight complemented, seemingly not affected by Lyn's cold attitude towards him, _at all_.

Lyn on the other hand seemed to have had enough. "Let's go, Mark. I've nothing more to say," she spun around and walked off into the crowd. Mark gave one last glance at the strange knight before following her.

He proceeded to walk closely behind Lyn. After a few minutes she suddenly stopped and turned around to face him. "Uhm…" she started with bit of a lost look on her face.

"It's alright," Mark said simply.

"Huh?"

"Let's just get on with our business."

"Oh, right, supplies."

"Yes… but first there is a small thing I need to do." He spoke somewhat hesitant.

"Sure. What is it?"

Mark pulled out a piece of parchment out of his pocket and showed it to Lyn. "Do you know where this place is?" his companion's face darkened when she read what was written on the piece of parchment. Then she looked at him with a thoughtful expression.

"Yes, I know in which area of Bulgar it is… but _why_ would you want to go there, Mark?"

"Someone owes me a favor, and I'm going to call it in…"

* * *

They stood in front of a shady looking bar located somewhere in a small alley. It was obvious that this wasn't the kind of place where a normal, honest person would go to get a drink. There were some broken windows and the building looked like it needed a serious paintjob.

A lot of noise could be heard coming from inside. Mark looked over to his companion. Lyn had a somewhat worried expression on her face while she eyed the bar from top to bottom. "You can stay here if you want to," he said to her reassuringly. Quickly she turned to him and shook her head vigorously.

"No…" Lyn said, sounding a bit uncomfortable. "I'd rather go with you in _there_ then stay here outside by myself."

"Yes, but you do know what _kind_ of people, or to be more precise, what kind of _men_ come to a place like this?"

"Yes…"

Mark thought for a minute and then came up with an idea. He loosened the straps of his old, brown cloak and took it off. "Put this on," he said with a small smile while handing the cloak to Lyn. "This way no-one inside there will notice you're a beautiful, young woman."

The Sacaen blushed slightly while she took the cloak from Mark's hands. "Don't forget to put up the hood," he said with a small, teasing smile.

"Obviously," she shot back with a sarcastic tone, but also with a smile.

* * *

The air inside the bar was filled with smoke and the odors of several kinds of strong alcohol, making both of them cough a bit when they first inhaled inside the bar. It was pretty warm too. Mark was disgusted of this place. The place was filled all kinds of scum. Thieves, lowly blades for hire, people who sell the 'make-you-feel-good' stuff, you name it. Most of them were drinking themselves completely witless, gambling their money away, or both.

Mark slowly made his way through the scum infested bar with the cloaked Lyn close behind him. Luckily almost no-one even bothered looking at them as they passed.

At the back he found who he was looking for. A man, who appeared to be somewhere in his late thirties, sat in a corner with his face slumped down on a small wooden table. Scattered on and around the table stood several empty bottles of liquor.

After letting out a small sigh while shaking his head, Mark seated himself at the table, opposite of the man. Lyn stood behind Mark because there were no other chairs available. "You said you would quit…" the twenty-two-year-old said disappointed while crossing his arms.

After a few moments of silence the man slowly raised his head, revealing a severe scarred face with a drunk and sleepy expression on it. "I also said I'd start tomorrow," he replied simply before letting his head slump down onto the table again, rather hard though. A small, muffled groan could be heard from the drunken man.

Mark suppressed the urge to slap himself in the face. "That was more then six years ago…"

The man raised his head again. "So…?"

"Never mind… You know why I am here, I presume?"

"I would have ordered another drink if I didn't…" he then noticed the cloaked Sacaen standing behind Mark. His eyes narrowed for moment, as if he were trying to focus really hard. Then he turned back to Mark with large grin plastered on his face. "My, my, Mark, haven't you hooked yourself a pretty one!"

Lyn's face flustered a little. She turned her head away while trying to pull the hood of the cloak down a bit more. Her companion, however, had stern expression on his face as he placed two envelopes and a small bag of gold in front of the drunken man on the table. "This should cover your expenses," Mark said as he rose up from the chair.

"You've become far too serious, Mark," the man sighed.

Mark turned his head away, a saddened expression on his face. "…Can you blame me?"

"No… I guess your not… See you around, my old friend!"

"Yes… See you around…"

* * *

The next two hours, which was about the time they needed to shop for supplies, were spent in a very uncomfortable silence. The two didn't exchange more then a few words every now and then, mainly about what supplies they needed.

Mark knew Lyn had questions for him. The thing was that he couldn't answer them… No, he _could_ answer them, if he wanted to, but that was the whole problem: he didn't. He didn't want her to know who, and what, he really was.

Because he wasn't paying attention, Mark almost bumped into a pair of horses that were standing in the middle of the road. After shaking his head to clear his mind, Mark looked around to see two men standing beside the horses conversing with each other.

He recognized one as the strange, yet cheerful, knight from before. The other man appeared to be quite the opposite, however. Clad in crimson-red cavalier armor with dark orangey hair and a serious, but also alert, expression on his face.

It didn't seem like two had noticed that they were blocking the road, so Lyn decided to take the initiative. "Excuse me!" she called out to them. "You're blocking the road. If you would be so kind as to move your horses…"

"Of course," the crimson clad cavalier answered, moving his steed out of the way. "My apologies…"

"Thank you," Lyn replied sincerely. "You, at least, seem honorable enough," she shot a disapproving glare at the green cavalier.

"Hm? Pardon me, but… I feel we've met before."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Hey! No fair, Kent!" the olive-haired cavalier suddenly spoke up, giving his companion a mock hurt look. "I saw her first!"

"Tsk! It seems there are no decent men among Lycia's knights!" she grabbed Mark by his arm, catching him off guard, and started to drag him off. "Let's go, Mark! I've run out of patience."

_We need to work on that short fuse of hers…_

* * *

The two companions were now just outside of the city. Bulgar was surrounded by a forest, if one could call it that, consisting out of small groups of trees scattered about.

After a few minutes Mark stopped following Lyn. "Where do think you're going?" he asked her. The young Sacaen stopped as well and turned to him with a confused expression on her face. "You need to learn to control your emotions a bit better, Lyn, especially your anger. Anger often causes you to make wrong decisions and also oblivious of your surroundings, at times…"

He had noticed the sounds coming from their surroundings, only a bit too late. They were small, but they were obviously there. "…We are surrounded."

"What?"

Loud laughing could be heard from every direction. A group of ten bandits, Mark counted, emerged from the bushes and boxed the two companions in. Lyn unsheathed her sword and quickly moved closer to Mark, her eyes constantly moving from one bandit to the next.

"Don't panic," Mark whispered. She nodded, but her eyes continued to dart from left to right and back.

"Heh heh hehhh… Quite the smart one, aren't you?" one of the bandits commented, possibly the leader.

"Being aware of one's surrounding isn't a sign of intelligence," Mark replied calmly, in a tone like that of a teacher correcting a student.

"So you're saying that you're dumb?" the bandit shot back with amused laugh, accompanied with those of his comrades.

"No, I am saying you are."

The bandit sneered. "Enough of this bullshit!" he pointed his axe at Lyn. "You, girl, your name is Lyndis, is it not?"

Lyn seemed startled by the bandit's last comment. "What did you call me? …Who are you?"

While the bandit started saying something about it being a waste and something about gold, Mark started to whisper to Lyn again. "I'll create a distraction so you can flee."

"What? No," she whispered back in protest.

"Just do it," he ordered her sternly while taking a few steps forward, trying to draw the bandits' attention away from Lyn. Under his cloak, he slightly pushed his sword out of its scabbard.

Mark was ready, but before he could start a distraction a javelin appeared out of nowhere, impaling itself in the torso of a bandit. Everybody, save the impaled bandit, turned their heads in surprise to see two men mounted on horses and with drawn swords charging towards them.

The Lycian knights!

Most of the bandits had shrugged off their surprise and were ready, but the mounted knights were too fast for them. The knights charged right through the middle, passing Mark and Lyn, and in the process took down four bandits.

A split second after they had passed him, Mark shouted at Lyn to attack and then went for the nearest enemy. He rammed the pommel of his sword into the stomach of the bandit as hard as he could, which caused his foe to bend over and grunt in pain. Shortly after, Mark's knee and the bandit's face got _intimate_, so to speak.

His foe fell back unconscious and with a broken nose. _At least I managed **not** to kill someone… this time…_

Mark glanced back over his shoulder to see that the knights had turned for another charge, each taking out a bandit. Lyn was near some trees, standing over the corpse of the ninth bandit. She was panting and seemingly not aware of the last bandit, the leader, quickly approaching her from behind.

Not hesitating for a moment, Mark kicked up the axe lying near his feet, catching it in his free hand, spun around and threw it towards the bandit leader. The blade of the axe imbedded itself into a tree a few feet before the charging bandit.

Not being able to react in time, the leader of the now dead bandit group hit his head against the handle of the axe and fell flat on back with a loud thud. When he tried to get back up to his feet he was met by the lance of the crimson-clad knight, pinning him to the tree.

The knight gave Mark an impressed nod. Mark, however, just looked away.

_So much death…_He looked up the sky while pulling the hood of his worn cloak over his head.

_Why must there be so much death…?_

* * *

Mark stared intensely into the crackling campfire with a frown. The two Lycian knights, Kent and Sain, or rather the information they gave, has changed much.

Lyn, or Lyndis, which appeared to be her formal name, was actually the granddaughter of the marquess of Cealin, one of the territories in Lycia. This had been unknown to her all her life and, of course, she was happy with the fact that she was no longer without a family.

…But that was about the only happy thing that came with this revelation. Apparently, the marquess's younger brother, Lundgren, wanted to take his brother's position, but in order to do so Lyn had to, bluntly said, be disposed off.

Mark glanced up from the fire. Lyn was trying to help Kent set up the last tent. However, Kent kept insisting, in a polite way, that he could handle it, much to Lyn's annoyance. Sain was standing nearby, enjoying the scene with an amused smile and a suppressed laugh.

Turning his gaze to the clear, star covered sky, Mark thought silently to himself.

Because of this new _quest_ Lyn's plans for revenge have been postponed, at least for some time. This gave Mark the opportunity to find a way to postpone them _permanently_…

There was no way he was going to let Lyn do such a foolish thing.

To kill someone is just wrong, whatever the reasons…

Especially if one chooses to do it willingly…

* * *

**Author's Note:** I didn't like writing this chapter very much… Next one should be better. 


End file.
